The Sonnets
by The Virtue of the Bored
Summary: Dave's life was over the moment he was outed. Kicked off the football team, failing at school, and disowned by his parents, he has nothing.  This is Dave's journey to redemption through new friends, a new home, and the words of Shakespeare.  Kurtofsky
1. Of Outings and Obstacles

When Kurt Hummel left McKinley, David Karofsky assumed his life would go back to normal. Call him naïve, but when the wet dream in a waist coat flounced away to the Dalton's School of Fairies and Faggotry, he expected the need to vomit rainbows to go with him, leaving him to lead a totally heterosexual life.

If he had to pinpoint the time and place he realised that dream would never happen, it would have to be about three months ago, when he woke up behind the school's kitchen, the side of his head pouring crimson on to his letterman. The same letterman he had to give back that afternoon. He couldn't even go home to wash it, because… well, he didn't have a home at this point.

You see, when Kurt Hummel left McKinley a month prior to this personal epiphany, the sparkle left too. The laughter left, the smiles left… and only David noticed it. Everyone was like everyone else, and no one was like Kurt, no matter how hard he looked.

So, he started more fights with random kids in the corridor. He looked for reasons to give these victims bloodied noses and blackened eyes, but could never bring himself to hurt them.

When meaningless violence failed, he became more promiscuous. He fucked whoever was willing, and soon even that failed to sate him. He couldn't control his urges towards guys anymore.

Before he knew it, he had cornered another unsuspecting guy in the locker room; one who fought back and left him alone and confused. David had been sure that…

What did it matter? He was wrong.

The next day, everyone knew about what had happened. He got the homophobic retorts and the mocking from every passer-by, and yet he couldn't bring himself to deny it. He tried a few times, but he felt sick every time he tried t prove he was straight.

Something about the honesty and clarity of his situation made him docile. He was free; he didn't have to whore himself out to cougars, he didn't have to beat the shit out of the weaker kids… freedom had come in the form of a busted lip and bruised cheek.

His parents didn't see it that way. Their son, their only child, was an abomination and an embarrassment. Their stupid son, who couldn't write his own name right without absolute focus, couldn't even give them a grandchild to thrust their hopes on.

His mother had screamed and cried. His father had screamed and punched. And Dave was the bloody mess on the floor, watching his parent's walk away from their only child; watched them turn their backs on their biggest mistake.

During the next few weeks, his grades plummeted, meaning he wasn't allowed on the team. Coach Bieste was a sensitive woman deep down, and the team knew it. She might have been more lenient if he explained that studying was difficult wen the words on the page were jibberish. She might even have taken pity if he told her of the difficulties of studying in your room when your bed was a park bench.

Instead, he kept silent, and agreed to hand in his letterman next day. He didn't deserve charity.

So picking himself off the floor, he went to hand in his letterman, apologising for the state of the jacket and himself; he had fallen again.

He had assumed his day could get no worse, until Miss Imrye, the English teacher, asked to see him after school. He considered just ditching, and chilling out at the mall or something, but in the end he had nothing to do.

Miss Imrye was a small woman, slight in frame, with big chocolate eyes. She was the subject of many of Dave's fr—ex-friend's fantasies. She sat at her desk reading over papers. Dave hesitantly knocked on her door and came in. "You wanted to see me?"

"David, come in." She looks up at him as he approaches the desk. "I've been worried about you for some time. You're a bright kid. You show a clear understanding of what we talk about in lessons, and you have the potential to really make something of yourself, Literature wise."

"Then what's your problem?"

Miss Imrye raised her eyebrow and removed her glasses. "I think you know, David. How long have you had problems reading and writing?"

"I'm a bit stupid. Not my fault, is it?"

"No, it's not. David, I want to test you for Dyslexia."

"You… what?"

"It's a condition that affects your reading and writing. It doesn't mean you're stupid. It would explain some of your problems with spelling and whatnot. Of course, I can't just send you on your way to a test centre, so I called your parents."

David's heart seemed to stop and somehow beat louder. Everything felt entirely too warm, and something primal and guttural was shrieking in his ear. _She knew._

"Imagine my surprise, David, when I was told by your… _father_ that he had no son. What happened, David?"

"Nothing. The old man will be fooling around—"

"Your grandfather is outside, Dave. Go with him."

Matthew Karofsky was an impressive man of grand stature. Age had not withered him; it had reinvigorated him. He had the same bright green eyes Dave had, the same curled hair… only whiter and shorter. There was no exchange of words, only a brief nod between grandfather and grandson.

The car ride was silent. Dave didn't know what to say, or even where they were going. Maybe gramps was going to lay in to him too… He was as strong as he looked, and not nearly as brittle as his seventy-six years dictated.

"David, you should have called me when your folks kicked you out."

"Do you know why they did?"

"Yes, and I am ashamed." David made a small strangled noise and turned his gaze out the window. "Not of you, son. Of your father; we raised him better than that."

They drove a bit further along on the road. It was then that Dave realised where they were. "We're going back there? W-what? But, Gramps, why are we—?"

"I'm going to talk to your dad. See if we can sort this ugly business out."

Dave sat in the car for an hour; then two; then three. Dave didn't know what to do with himself. He had reorganised the CDs, he had cleaned the windows… he had even began ripping up old scraps of paper he had found in the glove compartment. It wasn't until he had made a paper tundra on his lap that his grandpa finally emerged, carrying a small bag. He climbed in the car and handed Dave the bag.

"I'm sorry, son. This is all they had left. These are the only things they didn't… They burned your things."

David punched the dashboard, putting another dint in the glove compartment. The rage he felt soon did battle with his depression. The feeling danced around each other, swirling, waltzing, until finally tears rolled down his face. Violent shakes erupted and he couldn't stop them. He just didn't have the energy to fight anymore.

Matthew Karofsky held his grandson until the shaking stopped. "Come now, son," he said, his voice cracking. "You're coming home with me. I'm going to help you through this, alright? We'll prove him wrong."

Matthew lived on the other side of town, further to the school than Dave's old home. The drive was brief, but agonising. Neither man knew quite what to say. When he pulled up the driveway, Gramps turned to Dave.

"Go in, take a shower. I'll make some dinner… and then we need to talk."

In the bathroom, David peeled off his grey t-shirt and faded jeans, the clothes he had been wearing for a week, and stepped in to the running water. It was hot. Scalding, even, but blissful. More than he deserved.

He dried himself, put his clothes back on, and joined his grandpa in the kitchen.

"You're gay."

"… I-I… Yeah. Yeah. I'm so sorry. I just, I tried. I tried to not be, but—"

"Sit down, Davey."

Davis sat down at the dining table and looked around. Everything about the kitchen resonated with memories of Granny Louise. Granny Louise had died last year, and the home she shared with Gramps seemed trapped in the days before she passed away; the loyal home, waiting for a mistress who would never return. The floral print wedding china in the cabinet was still undisturbed. The flowers in the vase by the window were still fresh. Even now, Granny Louise's chair was never touched.

Matthew took his seat beside David, and turned to face him. "Start at the beginning. When did you realise?"

"I… I don't know. I've never really… got girls. Girls are just so confusing, and everything was always a secret with them. Guys aren't, you know? But I didn't know properly until… well, there was this boy. From my high school, I mean. His name is Kurt, and he's gay."

"Were you attracted to him?"

Tears sprang to his eyes again. No one had asked him that before. Not about anyone. And his answer could have him turfed out on the street again. "Yes. Yes, I was. Am. It's complicated."

"How?"

David explained everything. The bullying, the kiss, the threat, the transfer… everything he had tried to forget about came tumbling from his mouth; a stream of confessions that condemned him. Finally, Matthew put a hand on Dave's shoulder. "You were tough on the boy. You need to apologise."

"He won't talk to me."

"If you live under my roof, you'll do what I tell you, boy."

"What?"

Matthew wagged a finger at him. "Pardon."

"You want me to live here? Even though I'm… like that?"

Matthew stood up and went to the oven. He pulled on a frilly oven mitt and took out a lasagne. "Mrs. Griffin made me this, bless her soul." He set it on the table and started to serve it out on the plates he had set up. "Eat up. Lord knows when you last had a proper meal."

"Gramps, do you mean it?"

"Davey, if your Granny were here, she'd be heartbroken. We raised your father better than that." He sat down again. "I don't believe that you have a choice in who you're attracted to. I don't understand myself… but I will support you through what you choose to do. To turn your back on your own son—we didn't raise him that way."

"Gramps, I can't—"

"You're my grandson. Now, eat up."

* * *

><p>The next morning, Dave awoke with the vaguest sense of optimism. He wasn't entirely sure what had caused it; it could be the fact he had woken up in a bed for the first time in a week, or it could be because he had finally found some acceptance. Either way, he awoke with a smile.<p>

He put those same clothes on and went down the stairs. He paused on one of the middle steps and stared at the slightly sun-damaged picture that was hung there; Gramps, Granny Louise, his mom, his dad… and a baby bundle. A faded memory of when his parents had been proud. Suddenly, the optimism drained from him. He continued his journey to the kitchen, his shoulders slumped and his head hung.

"Ah, good; you're up. I was just about to call on you. Coffee?"

He shook his head and sat at the table. "No."

"Have some toast then, you'll need your strength. We've got a lot of work to do today."

"Doing?"

Matthew handed him the plate of toast. "I'm taking you to get a Dyslexia test done. Then we need to buy you some new clothes, since that's all you have… then you're coming to the community centre."

"Why?" Dave asked his mouth full of toast.

"Not with your mouth full, David. Here, I wrote this up for you last night. They're just a few rules."

David glanced at the paper before him. The demands weren't unreasonable, but some seemed damn near impossible.

In this house, it was healthy eating as a general rule. No junk food, at least in excess.

By the end of the academic year, Dave had to be getting Bs at least in all his lessons. That meant at least an hour studying a night.

His curfew was 10.30, and lights out was at 11, at least on week days.

His Saturday mornings now belonged to 'Little Paws'. 'Little Paws' was a community run safe haven for children with no where else to go. It was run mainly to aid the orphanage from the next town over, but children of all types came. Some days, there were no fewer than 55 children running around, and Matthew Karofsky was the founder, chairman, and Chief Bear.

"I'm not too great with kids, Gramps."

Matthew put his mug down. "You need to change. Your life is toxic. This could be good for you; a new start."

* * *

><p>Matthew had left Dave the car to do his own shopping, leaving him money for whatever he wanted, and giving instruction for him to come and pick him up from room 184 at the community centre when he was done.<p>

It was one o'clock by the time he was done with all the shopping and he now stood before the room. It was a hell of a lot smaller than he imagined, but he reasoned that… well, kids are pretty small. He knocked and entered.

He wasn't greeted by the chorus of screams and giggles he had prepared for. Instead, he found a solitary young man, probably of Dave's age, reading an old-looking book.

The boy had sandy-blonde hair, which was longer than most people from this area of Lima. He was wearing a plum turtleneck sweater, and black jeans. He looked up and smiled.

"I'm sorry, are you new?" His voice was high with a charming British accent.

"No, I think I'm lost. This isn't room 184, is it?"

The boy peered at him curiously, and flounced over to him, grinning. He peered his head around the corner and said, "Nope. Definitely 431." He looked at him and beamed wider. "My name is Tristan."

"Uh, Dave. How do I get to the room I need?"

"Do you like Shakespeare?"

"What?"

Tristan rolled his eyes dramatically, and carefully enunciated his words. "Do you like Shakespeare?"

"He's okay. What about the room?"

"What's your favourite play?"

Now the boy—Tristan—was just being rude. "I guess 'Much Ado About Nothing'. Really, I need to—"

"We study that here."

"Will you just tell me how to get to the room?" he yelled.

This seemed to affect Tristan, but in a way contrary to intent. He smiled and he pulled Dave in the room. "Ooh. Dramatic; I love it. This is where the Sonnets meet up. If you like that play, you should come here. We're reading it next week."

"I don't read good."

"You don't speak well either, but you still talk." Tristan went in to the black bag that was hanging up and pulled out a purple iPod. He handed it to Dave. "Even if you don't like to read, you can listen. All his plays and sonnets are there."

"You're just giving me this? Why?"

"We meet every Saturday at 1pm, and Wednesday and Friday and 6. Come and check us out, yeah?"

"Uh… yeah. Sure?"

"Great! Now, go down three flights of stairs, turn left, then right, then take two more lefts."

Dave's head was spinning. "For what?"

"To get to 'Little paws', silly! That's where you're going!" He ushered Dave out the room and smiled. "It was nice meeting you Dave. Come back soon, alright?"

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, this is my first Kurtofsky fanfic. It's off to a slow, kind of depressing start... but never mind. Tristan may annoy some of you... but I like him.<strong>

**In my mind this takes part before A Very Glee Christmas. So, a lot of things haven't happened and a lot won't. Reviews would be nice.**


	2. Of Starts and Sonnets

Getting used to the rules at his grandfather's house was already proving tiresome, but David was taking it in his stride as best he could. He was used to Matthew's strange parenting from several summer's staying with him; he strived to raise his children with the liberalism to allow them to grow, but with the authoritarianism to make them grow straight.

He remembered his mom would call it the "Vegetarian Hitler approach".

Funny… she seemed to be more of a gay hater.

Monday had been a strange day for him. He went to school feeling happier than he had felt in months, and even slushie facial couldn't put a damper on the fire that had finally been reignited within him. If anything, it made him question why the bullies were so unoriginal. He took notes in his lessons; he asked questions and did the work.

Miss Imrye had asked after him, and once again he was summoned to her classroom. "Come in, David."

"Yes, Miss Imrye?"

"How did it go with your grandfather?"

"I'm living with him now. I did the test you said I should… I should get results soon. It was aright; really long though."

"I can imagine. Well, I hope you know I'm here if you need any help."

David nodded and left the classroom, and went to his locker. His locker had recently been spray painted with "FAG" in bright red. It was the curse of the fallen bully; everyone he had ever hurt now saw fit to hurt him in return. How bitter sweet justice tasted.

* * *

><p>When David got home, he found Matthew in the living room, entertaining a guest. Dave recognised her as one of the women from the community centre; he could only assume she was one of the volunteers.<p>

"David, come and meet Miss Black. She's in charge of the volunteers at 'Little Paws'. She's come to interview you."

The woman was tall and rosy looking. She had a bright smile, and wore a black suit. "Is this like a formal interview?"

"Oh, no! The suit is for my actual job. We'll be spending a lot of time together if you're Brother Bear material, so please, call me Emily."

The interview was laborious, but Emily seemed impressed by his credentials. Who knew that kicking a ball and making campfires when he was seven counted as "credentials"?

It was five by the time Emily left, and Matthew had already started dinner. "Where did you get that—what do you call it—music box?" he asked while peeling potatoes.

"What music box?"

"The purple one on your dresser. Help me peel these vegetables."

Dave grabbed a knife and started on the carrots. "It's called an iPod, Gramps. I was given it by this weird boy at the centre. I was looking for you, and he kept asking about Shakespeare. There are these poems and plays on it."

"And he just gave it to you?"

"I said he was weird."

Matthew filled a pot with water and put it on the hob. He went to the cupboards and started searching for something.

"You should give it back."

"I didn't want it. He said if I can't read it, I should hear it."

"Give it back to him."

"I will."

* * *

><p>On the Wednesday, after school, Matthew picked Dave up, and took him to the community centre. He was shown around the facility, and introduced to a few of the children.<p>

He had already chosen his favourites; two little eastern European twins named Mila and Natalya. They had long black hair, put in identical pigtails. They wore identical ragged dresses, and carried identical scruffy bunny dolls. They had a curious way of speaking, but they were quiet; they apparently made the movie den their home.

"Mister David, sir," began Mila, the younger sister.

"Yeah?"

"You are very large. I like that you are large. Can you carry me to my sister? I have lost her, and I do not like it when I lose her."

David smiled and lifted her on to his shoulders. She shrieked in delight and pointed forward. "I am thinking that I can see her."

Emily must have been impressed by him, because immediately after this incident, she offered him the role of "Brother Bear". Being a Brother Bear meant he could be trusted with small groups of the children on his own, or larger groups with Elder Bear supervision. The children were the Teddies or Cubs, depending on age.

At five minutes to six, David bade his goodbyes, and went through the winding corridors and up the never ending stairs to room 431.

He didn't bother to knock, and simply strode in.

Tristan wasn't there this time. Instead, he found a group of girls, all clutching books. The one on the end, the red-head dressed in sparkles and gold, stood up. "Are you here for the meeting?"

"I'm looking for Tristan."

"Oh, then you are! Take a seat! Pleased to meet you. My name is Maria. What's your favourite sonnet?"

"I didn't listen to them. I only listened to a few plays. When is he—"

Now the blonde girl wearing a football jersey stood up, and stalked across the room to meet him. She threw her arms out and hugged him. "I'm Corey. Welcome to the Sonnets. Ignore Mari, she's a bit rude. She forgot to ask your name."

David wrestled free of the girl's grip. Everyone in this group was clearly insane. "David."

"Tristan's running late. You might as well come in and sit."

David sighed in defeat. He went forward in to the room, and sat on one of the blue seats. Finally, the silent brunette addressed him. She seemed a lot more frail that the other two, who were laughing boisterously at nothing in particular. Even her beauty was frail, seemingly untouchable. This one seemed more inclined to feminine coyness, as she looked up through thick, mascara-covered lashed. "I-I'm Alice. Ali, if you want."

"Hey." He liked her the most so far. She wasn't fucking insane.

The door opened again, and Ali suddenly lit up, and became more animated. "Oh, Gregory! I thought you would be late!"

This new boy slunk in silently, and sat next to Dave. He waved shyly at Ali and looked up at David. "Tristan mentioned you. You're David, yes?"

"Yeah… when is he getting here? I just want to give him this back."

Maria, who had clearly been listening, shook her head. "If he gave it to you, you're meant to keep it. He's got like a gazillion."

Gregory smiled softly. "Pleased to meet you. I'm the producer of sorts around here. I do designs and sketches… I act when needed."

"What sort of group is this? I thought it was a study group."

Maria took clear offence to this. Indignation twisted her milky face, and she span around in thespian fury. "We are not a study group! We strive to recreate the drama and theatricality of the original plays. These masterpieces were not written to be read as novels by ignorant and barbarous caitiffs who so cruelly disregard it, never truly revering it as a piece of literary mastery! I can not listen to such blasphemous claims. Why, I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapour of a dungeon—"

"Othello, Act three, scene three."

The group turned to the doorway, and beamed widely to Tristan, with the exception of Dave and Greg, who ignored his entrance. Tristan wandered over to Greg and flung his arms around him. "How are you today, Rory?"

"U-uh—"

"Davey, you're here!"

"I just want to give you this back," he said, holding out the iPod.

Tristan ignored the outstretched hand and turned to the group. "Well, we have a new fellow joining us today. Everyone, this is Davey!"

"I'm not joining."

"But you're here. You're here, so you must be joining."

"I just wanted to—"

Greg placed a hand on Tristan's arm and tugged at the maroon fabric. "Tristan, he doesn't want to be here. Don't make it awkward for him."

"Then why is he here?"

"I just want to give you this back!"

Tristan nodded. "Yeah, I figured you would. But you're here now… won't you stay a bit longer?"

David had never wanted to punch someone so badly. This boy, this infuriating, annoying, overly British boy, was determined to ride his last nerve until it snapped. And what was worse, these people considered this totally normal behaviour.

"Fine," he says finally, his voice chillingly calm. "I'll stay for ten minutes. Only ten minutes."

"Wonderful! That's all we need! What should we do then, guys?"

Maria flipped her curls back. "Well, I personally think that you should do the sonnet. This… this mammet has never heard a sonnet before!"

Tristan blushed a bit. It was surprising; for such a shameless _idiot_, modesty seemed like a foreign concept. "Um, I wanted to… save that for something else."

"Oh, but Gregory was looking forward to it. Weren't you?" Ali asked.

"Alice!"

"Well, if Rory wants me to, then sure!" The bravado was back then.

There was an instantaneous movement, and all the chairs moved in to a circle around Tristan. Dave was already curious, and he moved to the circle. Corey leaned across Greg and whispered to Dave. "Maria will tear up. It's always funny. Tristan is just that good."

Tristan stood on the empty chair next to Maria, and turned to the group. "This is Sonnet 20. Please, hold all homophobic comments to the end this time, Corey."

"They're not homophobic! I just—"

"Shhh! I'm performing!" He gave a playful wink and cleared his throat. "A woman's face with nature's own hand painted/ Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion/A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted/ With shifting change, as is false women's fashion." Tristan did have an amazing performing voice. Dave couldn't begrudge him that. "An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling/Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth/A man in hue all hues in his controlling/Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth/And for a woman wert thou first created/ Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting/ And by addition me of thee defeated/By adding one thing to my purpose nothing." He paused and sighed forlornly. He smiled with soft fondness in Dave and Greg's direction. "But… But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure/ Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure."

The group applauded, and Tristan bowed. Even Dave had been moved by the tender tones and wistful whispers he had employed to aid his story telling. Maria had burst in to hysterics, as Corey had predicted. It was Greg who had the most interesting reaction. He had seemingly succumbed to Gorgonian temptation, and merely stared at Tristan, the faintest cherry blossom hue resting on his delicate cheeks.

Were all artsy men flaming queers? Or was it just the ones in Ohio?

Tristan jumped down from the chair with feline grace and sat down. "Alright, Corey. Have at thee."

"I'm not homophobic. I like you, don't I?"

"Barely."

"Well, don't be such an annoying douche all the time." She stuck her tongue out and continued. "It's not one of my favorite sonnets, and I just don't accept it as proof that he had a thing for the Fair Youth."

Dave raised his hand. "Who?"

"Nobody knows," Ali said, fiddling with the hem of her flowing dress. "It's one of those brilliant mysteries that surround Shakespeare. It might have been a noble lord he admired. It might have been someone who he owed his life to."

"And if you're Tristan, it's one of his many fuck buddies. All the best writers are bisexual you know," Corey said with an eye roll.

"Yeah… I get that," David mumbled.

It had been a quiet confession, but Tristan had heard. His eyes widened and he burst in to that wide grin again. "Yes! Thank you! Davey agrees!"

"Well, with all due respect," Maria began.

"Oh, that's not good. She only says that when the next thing is bitchy," Greg muttered.

"With all due respect, you barely seem intelligent enough to read a Shakespeare play. I highly doubt that you have the ability to comprehend historical and social context—"

"I'm dyslexic, you judgmental bitch," he snapped.

The room fell silent, and Dave suddenly felt ridiculously self-conscious. All eyes were on him, and they all seemed to pity the poor giant who couldn't read and write like normal, intelligent people.

When no one spoke, he continued. "You know what, no. I don't understand everything about Shakespeare. I know that being gay back then… it was big sin that no one really gave a shit about. I get it. No one would have given a fuck if he has screwing around with a guy. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't want it kept a secret or anything. This guy could have been married, or just straight." He paused. "I get that he's God here, alright? But seriously; he's human. He might never have come out the closet. Why would he want to? Do you think he'd be such a legend today if he had? People would judge him on that, not the… great stuff he did. I haven't read the plays closely, but the ones I like are great. Funny, good characters… smart. He was smart to stay in the closet."

"I didn't mean—" Maria began.

"No, listen; He's like that Dorian Wilde guy. He wrote some great shit, but all anyone really cares about is the fact that he went to jail for being gay. And that was stupid anyway, because… it's prison! If Shakespeare had turned around and said it was for John Smith or whatever, then it wouldn't still be talked about today."

Again, no one spoke. Finally, after agonizing moments had passed, Tristan spoke softly. "I told you he was passionate. He's got a hell of a voice too. He'd be an amazing villain… what do you say?"

They all nodded, and burst in to another round of applause.

What… the fuck?

Greg tugged on Dave's sleeve and smiled sheepishly up at him. "We want you to join us. We can always use new talent. And you can put this on your application for college; they go nuts for this sort of society."

"I don't think so… I'm already an outcast. I don't want to be a reject too."

"Do you want to stay in Lima forever?" Maria asked.

"No. But I don't want… You don't care about my life story."

He stood up to leave. Corey stopped him by grabbing his collar roughly. "No. You're staying. You were having fun until Maria opened her giant mouth again. You've been here twenty minutes you know. Just stay until the end."

Dave paused, and considered his options. He could spend the rest of his days running home from school and holing up in is bedroom until he went to sleep. It seemed like a manageable lifestyle.

Or, here, he could…

"… Sure. Yeah, okay. Until the end. That's it."

* * *

><p><strong>So... Mixed response to Tristan. Rich guys. What are you going to do?<strong>

**Sorry about the MASSIVE delay. I lost the chapter, and then... I got locked out my own account. But I'm back!**

**Review please~**


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